They lay in bed together. The woman rests uncomfortably because the man won’t speak. Two thirty-somethings alone in a dark room, with not a shed of light. “You ever noticed how there are no birds in this city? I haven’t even seen a seagull,” he says. She doesn’t respond but he continues, “Look, I don’t know why you’re acting this way.”

She looks over at him and in an irritated voice states, “Your line was: 'Let’s consummate this night.'"

The 34-year-old man leans over bewildered, “Yeah and I meant that. I don’t know why you are getting angry about it. I would love for you to be the fourth girl I have sex with.”

The woman looks at the ceiling above her and wonders why she has been put in this situation. She looks back to her mid-twenties. It wasn’t so long ago that she was a young professional living in the city. Her future was supposed to be so bright. Now, all she deals with is incompetent lovers and broken embraces.

Men who bicker about how slowly people walk in the streets or the lack of adequate plumbing in restaurants.

Men who were once great but now live a life of filth and regret.

Men who were once admired mascots but then resorted to alcoholism once their sexual harassments suits left them with no money.

Men named Yohan who revel in telling stories about their drunken conversations in sign language with no previous knowledge of sign language.

Men who are fat that look like Bela Lugosi who she nicknames Count Chocula.

Men who are fans of rooms with many corners and constantly try to include puns in daily life.